


Sleeping in the Forest

by Silvermoonphantom (Daitoshi)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: AU, Blood Magic, Circle!Anders, Merrill being Merrill, in which Elves are more rare
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-02-16 18:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13059963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daitoshi/pseuds/Silvermoonphantom
Summary: Don't forget to review!





	1. I thought the earth remembered me,

A breath, a gasp, a wince as thorns caught on his ankles, tearing thin bloody lines through the delicate skin. Sweaty cloth clung tightly to his skin, brass-blond hair torn from its tie by the branches of tangled trees. 

Anders cursed under his breath when his foot slipped on the wet-rot of a tree fallen to decay. His knee jarred, pain jolting up from it, and Anders only paused for the barest of moments to slap healing magic at it before he was limping through the thick forest once more. 

Behind him - how far behind, he didn’t know - far enough that he couldn’t hear their footsteps or clanking armor, Templars were in pursuit. Anders didn’t dare stop to check, the hopelessness of it all still catching in each breath and stumbled step. They had his phylactery, his blood - they’d find him eventually. 

But still, it was worth it.  _ This _ was worth it. This run in the open, under twilight clouds staining the mountain slope golden, a fresh breeze chilling his skin with winds swept from far away. 

_ Freedom _ was worth the run, if only for the hope of someday escaping for good. 

He staggered to a halt, sucking in breaths and privately wishing he’d spent more time exercising to strengthen his poor lungs. His legs felt soupy despite the magic he pumped into them, and his aching knee was bound to give out sooner or later. 

Anders sagged against the tree, tilting his head back in a halfhearted attempt to urge his throat to let more air in, to calm the painful squeeze of overtaxed lungs. He swallowed, and even the brief pause in breathing was torturous.    
A moment later he sucked it in to hold it, ears straining after a quiet crackle-snap of sticks told him someone else was near. 

_ Please, not the Templars. Not so soon. Maker, give me just a little more time. _

He clutched his staff to his chest, breath wheezing despite the attempt to quiet it, and he leaned just slightly to peek around his tree to see what was crushing leaves so loudly. 

A flash of red and pale silver, and he tucked back behind the tree trying desperately to hold his breath. His heart punched the inside of his ribs, muscles trembling in unpleasant preparation for the inevitable wash of gut-wrenching  _ silence _ .  

But… it never came.

Something groaned, an animal sound that no Templar would willingly make (the proud bastards) and Anders dared sneak another glance. 

Given more than just a quick glance, the silver turned out to be the white hide of an animal, red a bright spot of blood on its flank, trailing in dark crusting ribbons down its leg. It seemed to spot him the same moment he realized what it was, and the white deer lowered its antlers, moaning warningly at him. 

The first emotion plowing into him was fear. First, having a large animal point its rather stabby weapons in your direction tended to have that effect. Plus, the legendary animal put a lot more credence to the tales of Dalish guardians in the forest, ancient beings who’d quicker slit a human’s throat for trespassing than let one run through the woods. 

Finally, he recognized the fletching, the same golden-with-speckles that the town’s chicken flocks sported. Even if he were to escape into the forest, if any elf (if they did exist) stumbled across that beast, they’d probably blame him for it. The lore was rather particular about how much they revered their deer.    
Terrific. 

Anders craned his ears for any clanking or footsteps, but found none. 

He swore under his breath, looking around for any sign that some fey creature was about to drop out of the branches to stab him.    
Nothing again.    
_ Maker save my skinny ass, I’m going in! _

He stepped away from the tree, flinching a little when the beast startled, yelping as if it had forgotten he was there. It tossed its head, clearly favoring the wounded hind leg as it hopped to face its antlers toward him.    
“H-hey there, I’m not going to hurt you.” He tried, but the animal just lowered its head further, stomping pointedly.    
“I know, I know, you’re hurt, and I’m probably the last person you want to see. But, I’m a healer, alright? I can heal you, if you’d let me. See?” He didn’t know why he was babbling to the creature exactly, but it wasn’t charging yet, so hopefully he was doing something right. Anders lifted his robe a little to show his scratched-up ankles, a sputtering flare of blue magic closing the little wounds, and he rubbed the blood off a moment later. 

“See? All better.” He hoped he wasn’t imagining the intelligent gleam in its black eyes. He REALLY hoped he wasn’t just projecting mercy on an injured, angry animal.    
“So, I’m going to try healing that, alright? So, Please don’t gore me, or anything. I like my organs where they are, thanks.”    
Anders shuffled sideways, surprised that the deer swiveled its head to watch him, but didn’t try to skitter away. Maybe the elves trained their deer to seek help? It would make sense in a weird way. Then again, he didn’t think elves  _ existed _ until just now, so maybe it was a stretch of wishful thinking. 

He took a breath, leaning his staff against the tree and showing the animal his empty palm, and hesitently edged toward it. He twitched when it stamped the ground, pausing for a few heart-wrenching moments when the deer turned and walked toward him. He held himself still, praying in the back of his head that this wasn’t how he died, being a stupid bleeding-hearted fool who walked up to a wild animal, only to be gored to death.    
But then- the moment passed. The deer whuffed at his outstretched hand, peered at him with huge black eyes lined with white lashes, and turned to sniff at a bush next to him, presenting its side. Anders let out a shivery breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, keeping a careful eye on its swivling ears as he reached out and gingerly touched its shoulder. He jumped a little with the skin twitched, and an ear twisted toward him, but the deer didn’t otherwise move.    
“Alright.” He whispered, equal parts awed and terrified, “Alright, I guess this is happening.”    
He carefully trailed his hand down its pale side, examining the wound more closely now that he had the chance.    
Anders winced sympathetically as his magic sank into it, the echoes of pain and damage twanging harshly against the open sense that earned him the title “Spirit healer” back in the circle.     
“Pretty rough, huh. Don’t worry, I’ll fix you up.” He mumbled it mostly under his breath, palm nestling into bloody fur to send little pulses of numbing magic to the area, trying to ignore the way the deer twisted to watch him, twisting antlers uncomfortably close to the side of his head. He could feel its warm breath gusting over the side of his neck, sending goosebumps down his arms. 

“Pleasedon’tkillme”    
The plea was muttered under his breath as he grasped the arrow shaft, sending a bit more numbing for good measure, bracing his shoulders and jerking the arrow out the way it went in.    
The deer yelped, jumping away even as he apologized, holding out a splayed hand as he dropped the arrow and tried to shake blood off the other. 

To his surprise, it approached him immediately, leaning down to sniff the arrow and letting him shakily step around to access its wounded flank. The rest was easy enough, despite the difference in species. He let a whisper of a plea bleed into the veil, and a familiar-feeling spirit answered, lending its energy to let him heal far past what is own reserves would allow. Compassion, probably. Or kindness. A sort of calm peace settled around him, and from the slowing breaths and lazy hang of the beast’s head, it could feel it as well.  

The flesh knitted under his palm, pain smoothing away until there was nothing but a silvery scar parting the blood-caked fur.  

He protested weakly when the deer butted against his shoulder, twisting around to examine its own flank, licking at the blood in an attempt to clean the area. It abandoned the gesture a moment later, bumping him again with its soft nose and surprising him when it let him scratch its forehead, rubbing against him like an overlarge cat.    
Anders laughed, feeling the spirit bleed away from him as he smoothed his hands over the elegant curves of its head, up the twisting antlers, or… horns? The intricate spirals, now that he looked at them, bore tiny carvings of leaves and twisting vines, tiny jagged forms he could only assume were letters smaller than his pinkie nail, looping around the creature’s crown. 

“It must have taken years to make this…” he murmured, sliding a thumb over the carvings, reminding himself that antlers were shed each year, covered in velvet until the last moment - horns grew continuously. He pushed its head away when it started mouthing at his pocket, laughing a little. The sound broke off when its head whipped up, staring at something over his shoulder, and Anders realized he’d gotten caught up for far too long. 

The deer lunged away, bounding in great leaps into the forest shadows. He cursed, grabbing his staff and making a break for a slope, but the heavy footsteps and clanking armor was too close, His magic  _ ached _ as it was snapped off from the harmony of the world, the whispering melody of spirits and soft hum of the life around him abruptly slicing into  _ silence _ . He couldn’t help but stumble, only barely catching himself on a tree, but not enough to stop the hands from wrenching his staff out of his hands, arms twisting behind him to snap into shackles.    
Ser Enri sighed, dragging him none-too-gently back the way they came, easily hoisting up the slender man as he kicked and squirmed despite his restraints. 

“C’mon, Anders. It’s too late, now.”    
Anders shot him an acidic glare, yanking again for good measure before falling into step, too used to being caught to pretend to think he could escape now. Anders twisted to look over his shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse- 

 

The punishment for trying to become an apostate was not a pleasant one. No punishment was, truly, but the Templars were beginning to get tired of chasing him, and the First Enchanter was tiring of defending him, and somewhere along the line someone decided that perhaps a harsher punishment would discourage him more than simple privilage restrictions had been, and the only thing worse than the lashes striping hot fire across his back was the blight-damned  _ silence _ crushing around him. 

 

When Anders curled up in his bunk that night, skin tight and aching after he finished healing it, the spirits still hovered on the edges of his awareness, compassion and fortitude and  _ hope _ whispering soft, worried sentiments that he didn’t quite understand. He buried his face in his pillow, trying to hold those moments of freedom in his heart. Trying to grind the memory of open skies and lush vegetation and the warm, white fur into his mind, so he could recall it forever. He exhaled slowly, staring up at the passing clouds visible through the slit of his window and relishing defiantly in the lovely splash of white looking back at him, even as he was dragged back to this  _ prison _ . Those warm, dark eyes watching him. The Halla that he’d healed, who still had  _ freedom.  _

  
Anders tightened his grip on his pillow, knuckles aching with it, and tried to  _ remember _ . 


	2. She took me back so tenderly,

“So I heard you ran off again last night! How'd that work out for you?”

Anders gave Micoli a wane smile, sitting more gingerly than he would have liked onto the bench beside him, settling his bowl of breakfast down stiffly as he tried not to bend his back. The man sighed at him, ruffling a hand through his tight golden curls, shaking his head like a human shaped, disappointed lion.

“Man, I told you, you should give it up. You don't even have any family out here.”

Anders stabbed a spoon into his oatmeal resentfully, rolling his shoulders a little as he picked at his breakfast, not feeling particularly hungry after last night. It was… unsettling to know the man across the room had helped his punishment last night - knowing the man who held a whip against him was probably watching him.  Anders swallowed tightly, pushing his bowl away slightly, tossing the spoon into it with a sad splat

“It's not about other people.” He muttered, leaning over to offer his fingers to a cat approaching them. It paused before even reaching him, slinking sideways and hopping up into Micoli’s lap. The older mage laughed at his sour look, leaning to make the cat accessible and crunching through an apple as Anders happily took the invitation.

“Then what, you're just getting all their tempers up for your own entertainment?” “No, I just-” “because that's what's happening.” Anders hesitated mid-pet, earning a frustrated nip for his trouble, catching Micoli’s unusually serious expression.

“Anders.” Unusually serious voice, too. “You're an Apprentice. You can't go out like that. Wait until your Harrowing, like everyone else, and just ask for a leave.”

Anders took his hand back, scowling.

“And when do you think that will be? When do you think they'll risk their _Spirit Healer_ against the temptations of a demon? I turned twenty-three last fall and I _still_ haven't-”

“Maybe if you stopped running off, they'd trust you more. You're not the only one who has to deal with the Templars, you know. You’re making them testy at everyone.”

Anders stood abruptly, scooping up his bowl with a dark expression.

“Anders-”

“Sorry, I'm not hungry. See you around.”

Micoli opened his mouth to protest, but the half-formed sound faded into a sigh as he watched the young mage stalk away across the dining hall. “Maker, you're always so dramatic”

He stroked the cat’s head, offering it a bit of cheese as he watched his friend prowl back toward the Apprentice barracks. The small creature rumbled a happy purr and Micoli hummed in return, the both of them content in the wide cage they had been given. With Lake Calenhad on every side - practically an ocean on its own, what was the point of doing otherwise?

 

\--

 

Anders scowled, brushing past a group of  much younger apprentices as he climbed the outer stairs, shoulders hunched against the Templars he passed along the way. Against the whispers of mages who knew who he was, and the rumors slowly spreading of fantastical stories about the how's and whys of his series of escape attempts.

“It's not for someone else.” He murmured to himself, pausing on a step and squeezing the handrail as Ser Enri passed him. The man lifted one bushy black brow, giving him a curious look, but Anders stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge him.

Anders relaxed minutely once he had passed, and turned to enter one of the studying chambers, the thickly barred window plenty to stop a person from crawling through they wouldn’t stop a determined mage from melting them. The rustle of trees on the banks far away caught his eye, leaves flashing silver with each rolling blanket of wind flowing across their tops.  Anders leaned against the bars, closing his eyes to breathe in the fresh air, to feel the cold wind whistling past old stone. He listened to the quiet slap of small waves breaking, and the cry of brown gulls nesting on the rocks that made the tower’s base.

A croaking call, and he opened his eyes again to find the dark shape of a crow wheeling around the tower, long feathers spreading like inky fingers against the clouds. Odd, for that kind of bird to be so far out over the lake. There was no food, here. He watched it bank toward the tower, not realizing where it was headed until it was practically in his face.

Anders jumped back from the window, startled as wide wings battered against the iron bars, black claws scrabbling to find a grip before the bird poked its head through, wings splayed awkwardly.

“Oh, no you don’t want in here! Go- go back to your nest.” Anders bit back another curse as his clumsy attempt to shove the bird back out the window was met with a sharp peck, and a haughty look from the bird when it finally wiggled its way in to stand on the window sill.

“Blighted bugger” he muttered, nursing the growing bruise and glowering as it primly arranged its feathers back into place, tail flicking. “I don’t suppose you’ll want to go back out the way you came before you get into trouble?”

“ _Hello_ ”

Anders stilled, staring at the bird in disbelief. Did it actually just-

“Er, Hello?” The crow peered at him with one eye, opening its beak like it was about to caw again, but the sound that came out was a raspy, buzzing,

“ _Hello”_  

It prickled the back of his neck, the sound of its voice. His first thought was that a demon had possessed the bird, but what would be the point of that?

“ _Hello_ ” Plus, all it was doing was repeating ‘hello’ - not terribly demonic, that. Still, better safe than sorry.

“Did you… want something from me?” He kept his hands to himself, wary of the thick black beak flicking through those glossy feathers. It ignored him for a long moment, looking around the room and ruffling its breast feathers in cycles. It suddenly turned to look at him, and he stiffened under the gleam of intelligence, and the opening beak. It felt like something huge and unknowable was pressing down on him, some world-rocking moment was about to-

“ _Hel-el-ello_.”

Anders sighed, pulling a chair around to slump into it, folding his arms and looking at the bird.

“I’m not going to just let you fly around the Circle, you know. Someone would probably get it in their head to add you to a stew.”  The bird squawked at him, buzzing some unknown slurry of sounds before hopping to the edge of the sill and opening its wings. Anders leaned forward, splaying his hands warningly.

“I just told you, you can’t-” The bird flap-hopped up onto his arm, sidling up onto his shoulder despite his flinching protests.  “Your claws are really sharp, you know.” Anders winced as the claws dug in tighter, almost as if in punishment for pointing it out in the first place. He grumbled under his breath, wary of getting a beak to the eyeball, but there was a part of him starting to warm up to the weird crow. Something small that felt deeply pleased to have been chosen and immediately trusted. His attempt to steady the bird when it slipped resulted in another painful stab with that sharp beak, and the warm feeling fled.

“If you get turned into soup, it’s not my fault.”

The bird didn’t even respond, wobbling as he stood up and pushed the chair back in. It didn’t fuss when Anders walked back down to the Apprentice barracks, hopping onto his bed once it was presented. He sat down beside it, tucking his legs up under him and wondered what on earth he was supposed to do with a talking bird. He could sneak food from the dining hall, he supposed. But where would it sleep? What about his bunkmates? Or the Templars? The circle mousers were the closest things to pets they were allowed.

The bird croaked something unintelligible, pecking at his pillow and hopping back to peck at his hand when he tried to herd it away, trying to figure out how to grab it without getting injured.

“Look, you really can’t stay, okay? You’ll be bored out of your mind, and probably get eaten by a cat. Neither of us want that, so go- Go out...side!” He finally caught the bird around its chest, enduring the outraged caws and flapping wings beating at his arms. His sleeves stopped the beak from doing much damage, and Anders quickly clambered up off his bed, heading toward the slim window.

“Hold still, you bugger, I’m trying to set you free.” It hissed at him, feathers fluffing up indignantly, and a strange texture caught the bottom of his palm when it kicked him. Anders paused, lifting it up to investigate.

There, tied around its skinny leg was a thin roll of dark brown paper, half obscured by feathers.  
Huh.

He sat down on the edge of his bed again, letting the crow perch on his knee. He accepted the nip of vengeance, surprised that it still let him fumble with its leg after all that. He finally pried the paper off, and the crow immediately flapped up toward the window, landing only for a moment to bark out a reproachful chatter of nonsensical syllables before wiggling back out and flapping off into the open sky.

Anders paid it no mind, carefully peeling the paper open to try to read what looked like a mess of scribbles. He squinted at it, turning it to the light. His heart began to fall when he realized he couldn’t understand a word of it, but a moment of inspiration had him turn it around. Upside-down, of course he couldn’t read it.

The words were still slanted strangely and jagged like the writer wasn’t entirely confident with their letters, but readable.

_“Where Halla Healed, Tonight, Help Run.”_

“Am I helping you run away, or are you helping me?” He murmured, smoothing his thumb over the letters. It was pretty straightforward, though. If he arrived where he’d healed the deer then someone…. His heart wrenched as realization bloomed. _An elf. An elf saw him, and offered aid._

Or, y’know, a random Ferelden person wandering in the spooky forest at nightfall happened to have a trained messenger crow AND was a mage-sympathiser willing to work around the Templar order.  Anders carefully rolled the paper up again, slipping it into his pocket.

So either an ancient race thought to be nearly extinct saw him heal their deer and wanted to help, Or a rather long-winded series of coincidences happened to favor him.  Which was more likely?

He leaned back on his bed, staring at the sky through his window and folded his fingers over his stomach.

Tonight. The offer was for tonight. His back still ached, and he’d used his only passage to the docks for last night’s attempt. Used up all his favors. His careful store of travel food was gone, and his staff was still confiscated somewhere in the Templar barracks.

But… there was someone waiting for him, out there. Someone who would have his back. He just had to meet them halfway.

Anders didn’t dwell too much on pondering why an elf would go this far out of their way to help him, caught up on planning how to get out of the tower that evening. He ate dinner with the other Apprentices, ignored Micoli’s worried questions as his mind raced and turned over his options.

Evening fell, and Anders pretended to go to sleep as his bunk mates fell in, enduring the nightly count without complaint, ignoring the playful jibes of Apprentices who didn't have a shred of faith in his attempts to escape.

Tonight. Tonight it would work.

He listened to the changing of the guard, to his fellows falling asleep. To the soft tolling of the bell that said everyone was accounted for. It had to work.

Anders rolled out of bed, stuffing his pillow and his extra robes under his blankets. He hesitated over the embroidered pillow, a small decorative thing his mother had made. The only thing he'd been allowed to bring from his life outside, into the Circle.

Gently, he tucked it under the blankets as well, and the slow exhale that left him was equal parts melancholy and determination.

 

It was easy enough to sneak around at night - they weren't banned from wandering per se, but the noisy bells and shuffle of the day made sleeping through it rather troublesome, so not many chose to reverse their sleeping habits.

The only Templar who asked what he was up to just accepted the “couldn't sleep” excuse, and let him walk peacefully away. Probably helped that he had a magelight over his shoulder - sneaking was a lot easier when you didn't have to look sneaky to do it.

He meandered about, saying hello to a few night owls, generally getting ignored for his trouble before heading toward the study room he'd met the crow in. As he expected, the iron bars melted under the force of a determined mage. His strength without a focus wasn't the best, but that's what Spirits were for. _Hope_ answered his plea readily enough, trilling delight in his breast as the metal warped and cooled enough for him to tie the corner of his robe to it. He slithered out and used his robe to shimmy down enough to drop safely to the rocky base of the tower.

Without the thick fabric keeping him warm, the lake’s misty chill instantly set goosebumps on his arms and legs. Anders shivered, looking around warily as he slunk down the slimy rocks, considering the dark water for just a moment. Glancing across the water to the far shore, he mentally calculated how far it would probably take to swim. No more than an hour or two… maybe three. That wasn't too bad?

Right?

 

As soon as he kicked off his boots and sank his feet into the water, he reevaluated that assessment.

This was going to suck so hard.

Anders gasped every inch he sank into the frigid water, cursing and praying under his breath that he'd get used to the temperature.

About ten minutes into his swim, he realized - no, he wasn't getting used to it. In fact, his skin was starting to go numb. Delightful.

Still, he forged on, glad that he hadn't tried to swim in heavy robes or boots that would fill with water and drag him down. It was hard enough staying afloat in his shirt and breeches. His breath hissed out in faint foggy mists, fingers scooping at the water in what seemed like a never-ending journey. A few times, he stopped to float, turning up on his back to look at the stars as he regained his breath and tried to regain a bit of strength. The night air was so cold, and the water below was even colder. Even so, it was… almost peaceful to stare up at the bright river of stars flowing across the sky. Feeling his own frantic heartbeat in his ears and the near-painful trembling that shuddered through his muscles as his body tried to keep him warm.

When Anders did finally reach shore, he was bone tired, bone cold, and gravity seemed to want to grind his face into the mud. He couldn't even drag himself fully onto land, arms shaking with the strain of it, extremities feeling like useless clubs for how little he could feel his fingers and toes. Still, he made it.

He made it.

 

After a few minutes of laying in the mud, Anders managed to drag himself up onto the grassier part of the shore, relishing the spongy turf and _solid_ earth beneath him.

He never wanted to swim again.

He pulled his collar a bit straighter, shivering desperately as the cold night air hit his wet clothes and sucked even more heat from him. It was all he could do to stagger upright, limping unsteadily toward the forest’s edge. He made it past the first tree before his legs finally gave out, and he crumpled in a heap in a patch of yarrow flowers, stiff stems poking his cheek uncomfortably.

The shivering stopped gradually, and his body felt almost warm.

That was… that was bad, wasn't it…? His thoughts felt sluggish.

Just before the black at the edges of his vision swam in, he felt the warm whuff of a breath on his cheek, and a glimpse of a cloven hoof under white fur, sinking into the turf beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to review!


	3. arranging her dark skirts, her pockets

His dreams were strange, fleeting things. Glimpses of landscapes, strange spirits, an unfamiliar voice murmuring words he didn’t recognize. He could hardly grasp the Fade before it pulled away from him again, sinking him into a peaceful, drifting haze.

The first thing he realized when he felt himself pulled back to awareness, was that he could hear a fire crackling nearby.

Also, he was naked.

His eyes shot open, and Anders grabbed the rough blanket on top of him, clinging it close to him to look around wildly. His first fear was that the Templars had found him after all, but there were no shackles, no crushing _silence_. The clearing was hard-packed dirt, trees and bushes tightly growing around them until the sky was hardly visible through the canopy.

His next thought was a random passerby had found him and brought him to camp, but a white creature caught his eye, and that idea was quickly dashed.

The Halla stared at him from across the fire, orange light flickering across its pale hide. It lay elegantly folded up, a basket of apples next to its forelegs, and a thick blanket over its shoulders. After they stared at each other for a few moments, the deer appeared to lose interest and nosed down to grab an apple to crunch through. Just barely, he could see the pale, puckered scar on its flank where he had pulled out an arrow.

“Well… hello again, I suppose. Glad to see you’re doing well.”

The deer flicked an ear at him, but didn’t stop its happy munching of fruit. Around them, crickets chirped wildly and the pale morning light was starting to trickle down through the trees.

He flexed his fingers, realizing he’d probably been stripped of his clothes to heat him up faster after his swim, and mentally thanked whoever had the foresight. He could still feel his fingers and toes, and a quick check assured him he hadn’t lost any parts of his ears or nose, either. They must have found him before Frostbite set in, but after Hypothermia was starting to take its toll. With any luck, he could avoid catching anything in his lungs.

Anders shuffled a little closer to the fire, holding his hands out to catch the warmth as the blanket pooled around his waist.

It was easy to see the careful craftsmanship of the camp around him. From the neat stitches on his blanket, to the tight weave of the basket the deer was eating from, to the elegant arch of young living trees pulled down in curving walls, branches lashed together to create a tight mesh of dried grass and living leaves. It was an unfamiliar design, but if he had to guess, it was probably watertight.  He wouldn’t expect less from a people he’d been told stories of since childhood. Either brutal savages or ancient founts of wisdom, the stories varied. One thing in common in the tales was a strong tie to nature, and a disdain for humans of any sort.

Anders hummed to himself, having honestly expected more bones to be included in the general aesthetic, but all he could find was carved wood and soft leathers, rough cloth dyed a thousand different shades of green and brown.

“So when are they coming back? Your.. er, whoever brought me here.” He wasn’t sure why he asked the deer, since he only got a blank stare in return, but it felt good to talk aloud. There was a strange… delight. Excitement. He was camping out as a free man. The Templars hadn’t caught him.  They wouldn’t-

Shit.

“My Phylactery. It's still in the Keep.” Anders cursed himself, looking up at the slowly strengthening daylight and mentally calculating the time it’d take before the Templars realized he was missing. An hour, maybe less, before the morning count was conducted. Before they'd take his blood and use it to track him down again

He pushed himself to his feet, wrapping the blanket around his waist and heading for his hanging clothes. The deer squeaked at him, something that sounded more like a rusty door hinge than a real animal as it clambered up with him. He pushed its head away when it tried shoving its way into his space, trying to pull his clothes down one-handed.

Still damp, ugh.

“Sorry, I can’t stick around, they have a way of tracking me. Blood magic, gross stuff. I’ve gotta keep moving or they’ll find me.”  The deer paused, ears perked forward like it was listening. Well, he hoped it was. It wasn’t interfering anymore, at least. Anders hopped into his pants, grimacing as they clung to his thighs and immediately chilled his skin.

“Plus, I don’t think they’d react very well to find this camp. People generally don’t think elves exist, you know. Dalish protectors of the forest are spooky stories to tell before bed, not-” He trailed off,  folding the blanket he’d been using with absent hands as the deer stomped, brandishing its rack of grey horns.

He put his hands up wardingly, the blanket unfolding as he lost his grip on all the corners.

“H-hey, I know you guys probably put a lot of effort into warming me up, and I'm glad you saved my life, but getting you tangled up in Templar business would be a sorry repayment-” he hastily folded the blanket again, setting it on the branch he'd taken his clothes from - hopefully enough of a sign that he'd left of his own accord, and not-

Something about the song around him changed.

Truly? This fast? The Templars really sped-

A hand closed over his shoulder, and Anders nearly jumped out of his skin, too startled to properly lash out and only managing a wild swat at the hand as he yelped and staggered sideways.

There was a figure just behind him - someone slender. He caught a flash of green clothes before his heel caught on a root and he found himself flailing back to fall on his arse.

“Calm down, it's alright.” A strange, lilting voice from the person, and Anders finally looked up to get a good look at them. At… her.

She wasn't very tall, even from where he was sitting. Thin arms and a bright yellow scarf, and- Maker’s breath, she was an elf. There was no mistaking the long, pointed ears, or the wide green eyes, or just- just the way she held herself, the way she moved as she crouched down to be at his level, long fingers curling around a staff that looked like driftwood. Delicate rust-colored designs curled around her face, brow sloped in a way he'd never seen before. Her proportions were just barely off, in a way he had a hard time explaining exactly how. Something about the length of her limbs, or the fluid, sharp movement of her head when she tilted it to consider him. Like a bird.. Too still. Too smooth. Everything about her seemed just alien enough to set alarm bells ringing in the back of his head.

He swallowed past a suddenly dry mouth, realizing this was probably the person who had dragged him to safety and stripped him to warm up.

“Hello?”  Crap, that's all he could manage? Still, the sharp expression on her face melted into something softer, and the elf wiggled her fingers in greeting.

“Hello!” She chirped back, eyes squinting as she smiled. “Are you alright? You didn't hurt yourself with that fall? It looked a bit rough.”

“N-no, I'm fine, thanks.”

“Oh, well that's good, then. I'd hate for you to die from falling into a fire right after not-freezing. Fen’Harel would probably get a good laugh, though.”

He stared at her for a moment, befuddled at the light curl of words shaped by an accent he wasn't used to.

“Is… Fenrel your deer, then? The...Halla?”

“Fen’Harel, no, no, two completely different people. I don't think the Dread Wolf would appreciate being compared to his prey.” She giggled, standing up again. “Then again, he doesn't get along well with dogs, so maybe you’re safe.”

“I'm more of a cat person, actually.” Anders commented absently, getting his feet under him. He shook his head, trying to get his bearings back. What did a dog have to do with anything?  Anyway, it didn’t matter!

“I can’t stay.” He accepted the blanket tossed back over his head, pulling it over his shoulders as he stood up. “They have-” “Blood magic, I know, I heard you the first time.” Anders obediently shuffled closer to the fire when she herded him, hair on his arms prickling at the idea that she’d been listening this whole time, just out of sight.

“Then you should know that they’ll be closing in on us soon. On me. We’re too close to the tower, I need to get far enough away to-” “What kind of spell do you suppose they’re using?”

Anders blinked, off-balance as the elf padded away from him, ducking under the tent cover and pulling out an old book. She plopped down on the ground, pulling it open in her lap.

“I- I don’t know, it’s a Phylactery-” Anders shifted uneasily, impatient to leave, but also well-aware that he’d freeze his ass off if he ran away into the forest in damp underclothes.

“Well, what’s it do? What does it look like? Does it sing, or make you bleed out of your eyeballs, or pick apart your dreams?” She didn’t even look up at him, flipping through the pages quickly.

“It… It’s a vial with my blood. Shaped like an hourglass set into a circle.  It...glows, a bit. They use it to track down escaped mages.” He _hoped_ it couldn’t make him bleed out his eyeballs.

“Like a tracking stone, then.” The words were murmured more to herself then to him, and she flipped back in the book. Anders glanced up at the sky, pulling the blanket around him a bit tighter. She sounded like she might know what she was doing. The urgency still itched at his spine, but her casual dismissal of the problem made him think perhaps… Perhaps there was a way to escape the Phylactery’s tracking, after all?  

The fire crackled behind him, long moments passing where the only sound around them was the growing song of birds waking up for the day, and the soft slip of paper sliding against itself. He found himself looking around, realizing for the first time that the Halla had wandered off at some point, without him noticing. The elf had captured his attention quite effectively.

She snapped the book shut, dropping it back off inside the tent and pulling a small bag out to root around in. “I know they’re in here somewhere…” she muttered to herself, making a small noise of triumph and pulling out a tiny vial with a cork stopper.

“If I had a bigger bottle, I’d use that,” she offered apologetically, as if Anders had any idea what she was going on about. “But since I’m a bit low on glassware, this will have to make do. Where would you prefer I make the cut?”

“Where you what now?” Anders tucked his arms under the blanket, alarm bells sounding off again.

“The cut. If they’re tracking you with blood, then blood’s the only way to throw them off. I’d only be filling up this.” She wiggled the little vial between her fingers, patting around her waist before finding and pulling out a thin, short knife. Anders eyed it warily as she approached, keeping his arms tucked away.

“And how do I know you’re not a blood mage about to sacrifice me to demons?”

The elf stopped, tilting her head curiously.

“Well, I suppose you don’t know that. Do you want me to?”

“What?”

“Do you want to be sacrificed to demons? I’m afraid I’m not the person you’re-” “Of course not!” “after, if… oh, well, good.”

They stared at each other for a moment, before she lifted the vial questioningly. Anders frowned, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Finally, he held out his hand.

He healed his cut on his wrist as soon as they’d filled the vial, and couldn’t find any words to say when she scampered off into the forest with it. He could only hope that she wasn’t going to do some sort of malevolent magic with it.

“Maker, I’m an idiot.” He groaned, sinking to his knees next to the fire. Swept up in all this, for all he knew it could have been an elaborate trap to get a blood sacrifice. Any minute, her magic would be ensnaring his mind, and he’d be toast.

But, the moment never came.

A few minutes passed, and the soft rustle of leaves heralded her return to the camp. She was talking before he could even ask where she’d gone.

“Alright so I’m going to hope your filly-thing acts like a tracking stone, because otherwise we’ll be in trouble, and I’ll have thrown a perfectly good piece of glassware into the sea for nothing. How tired are you? Probably not much, you’ve been asleep since you got here. Well, you’ll have to go back to sleep, otherwise this will all fall apart.”

“Hold on a minnute, what- ‘sssss go... “

The last thing Anders saw was her apologetic expression, before he tilted sideways and blackness consumed him once more.


	4. full of lichens and seeds

 

The Fade was not unfamiliar to Anders. Just as every other mage before him, his soul walked the jagged path of dreams while his body slept. Green light washed out the world, and the half-broken halls he was so used to roaming had transformed into a spread of unfamiliar forest. 

Academically, he knew the minds of dreamers shaped the Fade, as wandering spirits took the memories and emotions of dreamers and reflected it back at them. Virtues and Vices alike were drawn to Mages as they dreamed, for the most part leaving alone the normal folk who only crossed halfway into the other world. Who weren’t aware.

 

Or perhaps they were toyed with every night, but the act of waking cleansed them of memory? He wasn’t sure. 

 

With the Circle-bound mages across the lake, the dreamland he experienced was more his own than he could ever remember. Trees swept up into the clouds, huge and wide and packed densely around him in looming shapes and dark pools of shadows. Unnamed things skittered behind him, and after the first few startled twists around, he realized it was just part of the scenery. 

Yet despite the darkness and fear lingering at its edges, the forest still opened up its branches to show the cloud-wisped sunset. The faintest mist cooled his face as he tilted it skyward, leaves whispering as they rocked in a breeze that left his hair untouched. 

 

His feet carried him deeper into the woods, birdsong warped by memory into melodies of old lullibies, trilling flutes and stringed instruments from a small beak above him. An old song he’d forgotten the words to. 

Slowly, without even realizing it’d changed, the trees had spread apart, stone pillars rising up from the earth as if they’d been grown from it. He examined the structures curiously, trailing his fingers over a bit of vegetation as he walked around crumbling ruins.  The humming magic felt more vibrant in the Fade, it's bits and pieces just… crisper, somehow. More alive. He could feel the soft chime of friendly spirits on the edges of his awareness, and absently remembered he'd like to thank Hope for helping him swim so far. Without the spirit buoying his heart, he probably would have drowned with numb limbs and too little energy even to struggle for the surface. 

 

Anders climbed precariously up a slope of collapsed stone wall, teetering on a bit of loose rock before catching himself on a scraggly tree branch hanging near enough to grab. When he steadied himself enough to look up, across the foggy landscape rose up great broken towers, the likes of which he'd never seen. A vague memory tickled him, of a book read long-ago about the ancient elf civilization, but the sketchy pictures could do no justice to the sleek, crystalline shapes jutting up into the sky in the distance, somehow sharp and curving organic all at once. 

He could see the remnants of their color - faint blues and reds and translucent white in pleasing shapes throughout the stone. It was stone, right? 

Nearer to him, arches sprawled broken on the ground, a dozen bridges bounding over his head - a mixture of broken and complete forms. Walls with intricate glyphs lay covered in ivy, and he hardly realized he’d walked into a forest-conquered building until he looked up and discovered a ceiling instead of sky. 

Green light still spilled between cracks in the rubble, through holes in a broken wall and broken windows, the Fade’s fog swirling in soft eddies behind him.

Anders turned on his heel, slowly looking around at a place he’d never seen before - even in his dreams. The architecture was utterly foreign, full of curves and bulging balconies and stairways far too narrow for anyone to walk. The remains of windows lay in colorful shards - blue and green, shining golden glass curled in resignation below their sills. Vines had eaten into the stone, roots pitting what was once smooth. 

 

He would have called it beautiful.

Would have, but for the slowly dawning feeling of dread. 

 

What he’d thought was pale sticks and broken cobble, clanked when stepped on in a way that was neither quite stone nor wood. He’d been so caught up in the alien building - so captivated by sweeping, twisting walls, he hadn’t looked down until something crunched under his foot. 

All at once, fear ate up the core of his spine. He didn’t even have to look down to know what lie in his peripherals. Green and golden eyes now stared at him from every shadow, frozen as he was frozen, but no less focused. No less predatory. 

Hateful. 

Anders slowly lifted his foot, wishing very much to wake up and biting his cheek until the real world tugged him out of these dreams that were not his own. Away from the sleeping building and the bones that paved its floor. Away from the tiny, broken skull with eyes too large for a human, and teeth far too sharp. 

\--

 

Anders sucked in quick breaths, adrenaline still coursing fiery through his limbs as the real world curled around him once more. Sunlight diffused across the clearing, breeze hissing staticky across a thousand leaves. He slowly gained his bearings back, rubbing his chest as he watched the white deer yank lazily at tufts of dark green grass growing in patches between the fallen leaves. It paused to look up at him, then twisted around to itch a spot on its flank with the tip of one curling horn. 

It went back to grazing. 

His pants were still on, now dry and stiff from whatever residue came with the lake water, and his shirt was dry and folded next to where his head had been. 

Anders jumped when the tent flap yanked open quite suddenly, bright eyes finding his. The strange being skittered out into the sunlight - and really, ‘skittered’ was a word he never thought he’d use for a bipedal person. Unfortunately, the unsettling verb really did fit. 

 

She pulled out a bundle of leather and fur, dropping it onto his legs before settling down in the leaves beside him, apparently unbothered by the dirt against her bare ankles. 

Maker, he’d been in that tower too long. Dirt was normal, he shouldn’t even notice it. 

Still, he was careful not to leave the rectangle of fabric laid down for him as he sat upright, tentatively picking up and spreading out the bundle he’d been given.

“Let me know if the arm holes are too small.” He managed not to startle when she spoke, the words only making sense when he realized he’d been handed a patchwork coat. From the looks of it, the leather would hang at least to his knees, collar and wrists lined with rabbit fur. 

He examined it closer, running a thumb over intricately etched buckles (was that bone?) and careful stitches that added an extra panel to the front. When he paused over the obviously different colors of leather,  she piped up again. 

“You’re a bit broader than me, so I had to make due. I hope you don’t mind, I can try to dye them to match, but I’m still not very good at that.”

Anders shook his head, brows furrowed.

“It’s not that, I just- You made this? For me?” He looked up and found her tilting her head curiously. 

“Should I not have? I thought you had to leave your old coat behind, or-” He cut her off. 

“No, no, this is- It’s great, really. Thank you.” Anders forced a reassuring smile, pulling on his shirt and tugging the coat up over his shoulders as well. 

It was strange wearing someone else’s clothes after so many years of having his own few sets of robes. Less strange, to be closely examined while he did some perfectly normal behavior. The elf hummed at him, resting her chin in her cheek and drumming her fingertips just under one of the rust-coloured, curling tattoos. He smoothed his palms over the front, rotating his arms and pausing to examine the delicately carved circles.. He fastened the dark belts, tucking the edge into place and feeling how it snugged the coat tighter across his chest, the next hugging under his ribs. The shape of the panels, and the obvious alterations made to the sleeve cuffs turned something in his mind, and her comment suddenly made sense. 

She’d pulled apart one of her own coats to make it. 

He wondered if she realized how massive a gesture was this for him - to offer this when he had nothing to give in return.

“Do you like it?” Anders glanced up at her question, realizing he’d been quiet for a long time. 

“Yes, sorry, yes, it fits perfectly, It’s great. Thank you. I, ah-” He glanced toward the Halla, toward where he figured the Tower would be, if he could see past the trees. 

“You said you knew what to do about my Phylactery…” 

She perked up a little, dropping her hand to her lap. 

“Oh, right! Well, it’s a bit past midday now, and there was a bit of a comotion up at that tower this morning. Everyone was yelling around on boats, but I think they figured out you were supposed to be dead if their tracking stone was leading them into the water.” 

Anders furrowed his brow, processing that for a bit. 

“You… made the Phylactery aim at the lake?” 

“Well, at the vial you gave me, yes. Threw it right into the deep end. Good toss, if you ask me. Didn’t even have to swim out there.” She grinned, bobbing her fist in what he could only imagine was a self-congratulatory cheer.

Anders watched her stand up, feeling numb. She hummed lightly as she dismantled the little tent, stacking a few books up and lashing them together to slip into a pack.   

It felt unreal. 

Was he… truly free of the Templars? An Apostate? 

The coat was heavier than his Circle robes, but they smelt of leather and woodsmoke and animal oils. 

“Why?”

“Hm?” Merrill hummed the noise as she folded up her tent’s cloth, binding it tightly and hoisting the roll up over her shoulder. “Why what?”

“Why did you help me? That… what you did, that means a lot to me, why would you just… for some stranger.” He stumbled over his words, and frowned in frustration when she seemed to ignore him in favor of draping a woven harness over the Halla’s back, tying her bundles to it. 

“You saved Lena’s life.” She said, patting the Halla’s neck. “And you seemed to have a straightforward goal, and not something like ‘avenge my honor’ or something else abstract. So, here. There. Now you’re free. You’ve got a coat. There’s some human coin in the pocket, and some jerky too, so you ought to be able to walk to a town and settle down if you’d like. Start a little healer family, maybe tell stories about the fey elvhen to your future children. I hope you’re good at storytelling, I’d hate to be a character in a poorly told story.” She seemed to enjoy rambling, loading up the Halla’s harness and tying down the bundles with quick, familiar motions. 

Anders lingered awkwardly, still trying to absorb the idea that he was truly a free man. That they thought he was dead. That Micoli thought he was dead, and was probably going to be angsty for ages about it. 

He turned toward the tower, still only seeing a canopy of trees, but  _ knowing _ where it was, with all the surety his magic could feel. 

“Then… where are you going?” When he looked back, the elf was dousing the fire, kicking dirt over the coals. She didn’t answer at first, making sure there was plenty of leaves scattered around to hide the signs of camp. 

“I’m headed across the Waking Sea.” She said at last, giving him a lidded glance that spoke of a quiet demand for privacy. He swallowed, nodding in silent agreement. Across the sea was the Free Marches and Naverra, and the Vinmark Mountains. Further north still, was the Tevinter Imperium. Perhaps not the best place for a person down on their luck, but the likelihood of being hunted by Templars lowered the closer he was to that border. 

“Can I join you?” He blurted, then tried to explain when she paused in askance. “Across the sea, I mean. I’d like to go north too, or just… out of Ferelden.”

She hummed again, regarding him with an expression he couldn’t read. 

His heart skipped in relief when she nodded, slinging a bag over her own shoulders and picking up her driftwood staff. Last was an oddly shaped something, wrapped in cloth. 

When the elf tried to put it on her deer’s back, the animal shied away, snorting at her. 

“Oh come on, Lena, don’t be like that.” The deer only pawed at the ground, shaking its horns. 

“I could carry it.” He offered, not really thinking. 

Then again, he didn’t think she’d regard him with such suspicion, clutching the bundle to her chest in a unconsciously protective gesture. She looked between the frustrated deer and him, then down at the bundle. 

“No.” She finally decided. “No, I’ll carry this. You can take my pack if you want to tag along.”

“Alright.” That was better than he’d hoped, and was careful not to seem threatening as he edged up beside her and took the pack up over his own shoulders. It was heavier than he thought it looked, but do-able. 

The three of them began to trek through the forest, Ander’s legs starting to burn only a few minutes in - muscles used to endless stair climbing and floor scrubbing and not much else. He refused to complain, a mixture of pride and joy pushing him onward down the path away from the Ferelden Circle Tower. 

 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t perfectly as he imagined his freedom to be. 

As they walked, Anders couldn’t shake the uncomfortable  _ awareness _ he had of his guide. Something about her just seemed  _ off _ . He couldn’t put it into exact words, but it was the same unsettled wariness he got when he watched a spider for too long, or a centipede. Something about seeing intelligence out of a creature that moved too differently. Too strangely.  It wasn’t as if she were twitching and flailing like a spider, and if he were asked to describe exactly what was wrong, Anders would probably shrug helplessly and gesture toward her. 

Maybe it was the way she moved through the forest, legs and arms gliding her over brush and fallen branches while her head remained perfectly level, tilting toward all manner of sounds. 

Maybe it was her gaze when he spoke, glinting with a curiosity that reminded him less of a person meeting a stranger, and more like a child who found a particularly fascinating frog, and was considering how best to hide it in their pocket. 

That was probably it. 

Anders hitched the pack a bit higher, nestling his cheeks into the fluffy trim of his new coat. She looked at him with the interest and bemusement of someone who didn’t really consider you a person. 

He’d felt that gaze from Templars before, and from the occasional visitor to the Circle, who wanted to meet a mage in person before hiring them for a job. 

Well, no matter. 

He was free to leave at the next town, if he wished. To set out down his own roads and leave this creepy legend vanish again into the forests and morning mist. For now, they walked. 

For now, they traveled together. 

He tried not to think about the people he was leaving behind. 

**Author's Note:**

> "I thought the earth remembered me,  
> she took me back so tenderly,  
> arranging her dark skirts, her pockets  
> full of lichens and seeds.  
> I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,  
> nothing between me and the white fire of the stars  
> but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths  
> among the branches of the perfect trees.  
> All night I heard the small kingdoms  
> breathing around me, the insects,  
> and the birds who do their work in the darkness.  
> All night I rose and fell, as if in water,  
> grappling with a luminous doom.  
> By morning I had vanished at least a dozen times  
> into something better."
> 
> -Sleeping In The Forest by Mary Oliver


End file.
